Running With No Fear
by domina tempore
Summary: Sometimes she thinks that maybe Neal is crazy. But maybe he just loves the running.(x3 Xover with, Stargate: SG1, White Collar, and Warehouse 13 {by default}. Part 4 in my Respectable Scoundrels series.)


**Running With No Fear**

Series: Respectable Scoundrels

_Disclaimer: White Collar, Stargate, and Warehouse 13 belong to their respective owners, I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement intended!_

Note: I meant to write something Christmas-y for Scoundrels, because I am a total sucker for holiday fics; however, life got in the way, and nothing was every finished. So instead, I give you one of the lighter stories in the series. Think of it like a Christmas present, from me to you *wink*.

Happy Christmas!

(Timeline Notes: Not terribly timeline-specific. Before France, but clearly after Neal is brought into the whole Warehouse thing.)

**ooo**

You're in an outdoor market – you forget the name of the city or the country for that matter – but it's some kind of holiday and there are flags and bells strung up from all the stalls. You're window shopping, looking for jewelry or a pretty scarf or something to take away from this trip that won't end up in the Warehouse. You're almost decided on an orange scarf that reminds you of sunsets when you hear a shout, and Neal is running down the street.

It doesn't surprise you; somehow, Neal ends up doing a lot of running even though he's good and your plan was a work of art. Maybe, you think, he just really enjoys winning.

The way he's booking it, you're pretty sure whoever is chasing him is faster than your average security guard, so when he gets close you fall into step with him and don't ask questions until you're both tumbling into a pond at the edge of town ("Did you at least get the thing?" "Of course! Now get down!"). It's going to ruin your clothes, but it's as good a hiding place as you'll ever get and the two of you sink beneath the murky surface to wait.

You stay in the water for what feels like forever, and you find the time to mourn Neal's Italian leather shoes and your own wardrobe that will forever smell like mildew now. You reach out for Neal's hand to make sure he's still there, and he squeezes your fingers gently. When you squint at him through the cloudy water, he's grinning.

Finally, when your lungs are on fire and you're getting dizzy, you surface. Whoever was chasing you is long gone, and the area around the pond is deserted. Laughing, you drag yourselves out of the water and collapse in the shade of a huge old tree. In the distance you can hear bells and music from the market, but you're too busy laughing to do more than note it in the back of your mind.

"That," Neal gasps, flipping his wet hair out of his eyes, "was too close."

You're still giggling like a child, and you almost want to kiss him because it feels like you've never seen anything more beautiful than this crazy man. "They only saw you because you got cocky again," you inform him instead, grinning like an idiot. "You like the running too much, love."

Neal shoves your shoulder, and you throw a handful of mud at him (his shirt is already ruined, anyways), and by the time you head back to your hotel you're both still dripping wet and caked with muck. You grin brightly at the shocked receptionist as you duck into the elevator, and you call dibs on the shower.

By the time you're clean and dressed again Neal has managed to wipe off most of the mud except where it's gelling his hair into funny peaks. He's sitting by the window in the orange glow of sunset, carefully cleaning off the object of your journey. You lay a hand on his shoulder. "That's it?" you ask, still finding it hard to believe that such small, innocent objects like the little statuette can be such dangerous artifacts.

Neal nods. "Yup. This is what we almost had to drown ourselves for."

You think about this for a minute, then ask, "Do you know that the agents in the States can usually _talk_ people out of their artifacts?"

Neal glances up at you and shrugs. "I'm sure we could do them all that way, too; but this is way more fun, isn't it?"

You can't argue with that.

_fin._


End file.
